


Come fly with me

by tahariel



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Charles thinks he's funny, Erik is a nervous flyer, Fingerfucking, M/M, Mile High Club, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 03:56:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tahariel/pseuds/tahariel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The plane shivers again, and for a moment Charles thinks it must be more turbulence until he realises he can feel Erik’s hand shaking in time with it, a resonant quiver that hums through the metal like a signature Charles could recognise with his eyes closed. “Stop it,” he hisses, and the plane shakes harder as Erik hisses back, “I’m not doing it on purpose.”</p>
<p>This is not good. Charles tries to think of a way to calm Erik down, but without breaking his promise not to change Erik’s mind or emotions without permission, given or implicit, there’s not a lot he can do that Erik will accept in a public space, stubborn idiot that he is. And there’s nowhere else they can - oh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come fly with me

The plane judders again as they go through a turbulent patch, and Erik’s hand clenches on the armrest between them, knuckles pressed white against his skin from the inside. 

Charles glances down and sighs mentally, laying down his magazine on the little fold-away table on the seat in front of his and wrapping his own hand over Erik’s, stroking the valleys between his fingers soothingly. “You should have said if you were such a nervous flyer. We could have driven.”

“To Alaska?” Erik says scornfully, but he does not pull his hand away. He looks a little green around the edges, too, though surely he must have flown plenty of times when he was pursuing Shaw. “Don’t be ridiculous, Charles.”

The mutant they’re looking for has only recently moved, or Charles wouldn’t have found her at all - as it is the only reason they’re following after her is the sense Charles had got from the original session in Cerebro of rather a lot of strength with a rather alarming dearth of control. Since they set up shop as a school proper they have made less of these trips together, tending to go out one or the other of them as needed. But this was rather further than they usually went.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Charles asks, looking fondly at Erik and turning as much as he can with the ridiculous little seatbelt pinching him in at the waist. “I could always - ”

Erik scowls. “I’m fine.” But the overwhelming feeling of nausea and unease rolling off him is easy enough to read without impinging on his privacy at all, and Charles is starting to feel a little sick himself.

The plane shivers again, and for a moment Charles thinks it must be more turbulence until he realises he can feel Erik’s hand shaking in time with it, a resonant quiver that hums through the metal like a signature Charles could recognise with his eyes closed. “Stop it,” he hisses, and the plane shakes harder as Erik hisses back, “I’m not doing it on purpose.”

This is not good. Charles tries to think of a way to calm Erik down, but without breaking his promise not to change Erik’s mind or emotions without permission, given or implicit, there’s not a lot he can do that Erik will accept in a public space, stubborn idiot that he is. And there’s nowhere else they can - oh.

“Go to the bathroom,” Charles says, and when Erik turns his head to look at him incredulously he adds, “and wait for me there.”

“Are you seriously - ”

“Nobody will notice,” and he taps his fingers against his temple pointedly, raising an eyebrow. “Now are you going or not?”

“Fine, fine.” Erik flicks the buckle of his seatbelt undone with a quick thought and gets to his feet, groaning under his breath as he unfolds his long body from the confined space and stretching out his legs. “You are insane, you know that?”

“Tell me that when I stop you from breaking this plane into itty bitty pieces at fifty thousand feet,” Charles says, and glances appreciatively down at Erik’s ass when he stretches his arms up against the low ceiling. “Now get.”

He follows after a couple of minutes, carefully distracting the one or two people who vaguely notice with minimal effort - none of them care that much, not really. They’re all in a long flight coma, a tin can full of sloth-like minds and Erik, who is still panicking and trying to keep it latched down but not really succeeding. It’s easy enough to slip into the bathroom after him, nudge him with his mind into moving back out of the way and closing the folding door behind him.

The space is small, and cramped, and mostly occupied with the actual toilet, but it means he’s plastered up against Erik’s front, chest to chest so that when they breathe they’re pushed even closer together. Erik dips his head obligingly when Charles leans up to kiss him, bringing his arms up to pull him down where he wants him. Erik is a solid wall of muscle against Charles, lean and long, and there’s so little room to move; Charles has to work out how to reach around the back of him to grasp a handful of that gorgeous ass, but when he does Erik lets out this sexy little muffled groan that Charles swallows with a smile, rolling his hips so that their groins push up against one another. Despite his protests, Erik is hard and pressing against his fly. At least part of him is getting with the program.

The plane has stopped shuddering, not that Charles is going to point that out and bring his mind back to it, so instead he reaches with his other hand for Erik’s belt buckle, loosening it without stopping kissing. His elbow thumps against the door, but he smooths the noise out of the attendant’s mind where she’s standing not too far away outside. He catches Erik’s bottom lip between his teeth and bites gently, tugs on it and releases it only to push his tongue back into Erik’s willing mouth, wet and sloppy, dragging the leather out and attacking the button and zipper next, until he has enough slack to push Erik’s pants down entirely, letting them slide down those long, long legs to gather around Erik’s ankles.

“They’re going to get dirty,” Erik complains between kisses, and Charles says, “Never mind that,” and pulls his boxers down, too, with a hand fisted in the fabric at the top of Erik’s crack, drags them down over that whip-cord waist and lets them fall.

When he gets the little bottle of complementary hand cream out of his breast pocket Erik’s eyebrow rises in surprise and disbelief, grey-green eyes amused. “Really, Charles? Surely there’s not enough room for that - ”

“As there’s not enough room for you to turn around in this matchbox, no, not for that,” Charles says, squirting the cream onto his hand and rubbing it between his fingers to get them nice and slick. “I was thinking I’d just finger you, unless you have any objections?”

Erik’s eyes darken, his breath a quiet hiss of arousal, and there’s so little space between them that it’s impossible not to feel his cock twitch against Charles’ stomach, dragging against the fabric of Charles’ shirt. “Not at all,” and Erik bends his head to kiss Charles again, shifts to the side so Charles can get his hand back around his side, knocking the toilet roll holder and sending paper rolling down onto the floor in an unsteady waterfall.

Erik’s ass is firm and muscular, not round but taut from years of running and hard work, and Charles knows it well, is happily familiar with its contours and the way Erik half-jerks away from him at the first touch of his fingers against his hole before deliberately leaning back into it, making himself vulnerable. He hides his face in Charles’ neck to muffle his groan when Charles rubs slick all around, coaxing the muscle into relaxing enough for him to slip a finger inside.

It’s tight in there, smooth and hot, and Charles bites at his own lip as he works his finger in as deep as he can, smearing Erik’s insides with the cream before he can start fucking his finger in and out, setting a careful rhythm that soon has Erik panting just a little against his skin, moist breath muffled in the crook of his neck. Outside somebody comes to wait for the bathroom to be free - wonders what the hold up is - wanders off when Charles suggests to them that this toilet is out of order, sends them down the aisle to the other bathroom at the back of the plane. Erik grunts when Charles works in a second finger, spreading his hole wider to accommodate and forcing Erik to widen his stance to make room, feet sliding apart but trapped by his pants around his ankles. Erik’s cock is pressed hot and hard against Charles’ belly, and he starts rubbing back and forth between the friction of Charles’ shirt and the pressure of his fingers in him, short, sharp aborted thrusts in the limited space.

“You’re going to get come on my shirt,” Charles says, scissoring his fingers and pressing the tight muscle even wider, enjoying the burst of pleasure Erik puts out like a beacon. If anything the metal of the plane seems to thrum happily now, everything running more smoothly than he would have expected for a little out-of-the-way airline. “Unbutton me, you can rub off on my stomach.”

Erik’s hands fumble on the buttons, but once he has it open and the shirt’s sides are shoved back - tails tucked out of the way in Charles’ trousers - it’s easier for him to thrust against Charles’ lightly sweating skin, smoother and more forgiving on the sensitive skin of his cock as Erik gasps and squeezes his eyes tight shut.

“Are you quite alright, darling?” Charles asks with only a hint of audible amusement, but he knows Erik feels it anyway, because he says quite distinctly, “Fuck off, Charles.”

“Alright,” and he thrusts his fingers in and out of Erik harder and faster, now, working them in deeper and almost staggering when Erik leans on him harder, transferring some of his weight. “You only had to ask.”

Erik moans and comes in waves of pleasure, spurting come over Charles’ stomach which he quickly catches in his hand before it can spatter their pants and shoes, asshole rippling around Charles’ stiff fingers where they’re still up in him.

“You’re still hard,” Erik says when Charles pulls them out, wincing as they slip out of him and let his hole clench back in to the size it’s supposed to be. “Do you - ”

“In an airplane bathroom? Don’t be gauche,” Charles says, grinning and wiping his hand off on the spilled toilet paper - might as well make some use of it - then moans into Erik’s mouth when the other man reaches for his zipper.

He can distract the attendants for a while longer, provided Erik doesn’t get too - 

Oh - 

Oh dear.


End file.
